Whatever You Say
by Xeen Cyr
Summary: not episode related. Romcom banter.


**FRINGE**

**Whatever You Say**

No inFRINGEment intended. I'm merely borrowing the characters and I shall put them back in their box when I'm finished.

Note: not episode related. Romcom banter. Forgive me for the formulaic plot, I was bored and trying to get my mood up… Please comment ;)

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It had been a quiet morning. No _Pattern_ related hiccups, no ghost-in-the-box, no particular outburst from Walter. She should probably give it a go. It was time; it had been for quite a while. She had been having cold feet about this and today was as good a time as any to ask Peter. Olivia looked up from her file and puckered brow. Through the venetian blinds, she watched Walter slowly mimicking the swan or was it the wild goose? He had spent almost every minute of his free time perfecting new tai chi exercises based on birds. He stopped his impersonation to retrieve from his bench a very large stereo headset with electrical wires and multicoloured tiny pearls spiking from it. She pushed her office door and came closer to Peter who was engulfed in his work, un-weaving hundreds of layers of data to find one single element they could use from the audio files found in John's cellar.

"What's wrong with your father this morning?" she asked Peter her eyes never leaving Walter.

Oblivious to anybody's presence and scrutiny, Dr Bishop was slowly pursuing his eerie goal in the middle of the lab, and was beating time with a glazed donut. Peter glanced at his father and back to Olivia.

"This morning?" he said with a soft snigger. "I'm afraid he had not been himself lately, sweetheart."

He could not resist the temptation. He remembered perfectly when he called her sweetheart for the first time and he was eager to witness her reaction now that they were… friends? She pursed her lips and gratified him with a polite smile.

"He has not been himself for the best part of the last two decades should prove to be more accurate though," he added. "He's currently attempting to demonstrate that his relaxation techniques can generate enough energy to power an auxiliary cup heater."

There was simply no way he was going to let her go back to her office without a fight. This morning at the lab was a bore and a total waste of his talents and as far as he was concerned, he had had enough of babysitting his father for a lifetime. Some flirtatious banter with Olivia was exactly what he needed to boost his ego and regain some of the self-esteem Astrid managed to rob him of when she succeeding in cracking the files they had been working on for the best part of the last seven hours.

"Joking, sorry, that was not funny."

She did not bat an eyelash and went back to her file, turning away from him. She slowly started to walk back to her office. He sprang from his chair, went past her and stopped before she could reach the door. Her right eyebrow rocketed to the root of her hair and she winced slightly away from him.

"I did not mean to startle you, I just want you to know that we finally managed to isolate this particular background noise you wanted to know more about and Astrid put a name on it," he prompted with a boyish enthusiasm.

"Okay," she acknowledged, her eyes intent, showing no particular interest in their find.

He knew that was only the expression of her guarded nature but it felt like another low blow to his already bruised ego. The more she behaved poised and calm the more restless he felt.

"Astrid theorised that it could be a large group of people shouting in Fenway Park."

"Home of the Boston Red Sox…" Olivia stated, her nose wrinkling in expectation and she followed him back to his desk.

"Yep. But you have to listen carefully for this on the radio recording… --let me adjust the frequency… there's no car, so the safest bet would be Yawkey Way."

He played with the digital potentiometers on his screen and placed a headset on her left ear, monitoring the sound file at the same time. His hand brushed her hair and her mouth twitched.

"No cars. One can conclude that they closed it to traffic because it's game day," she trailed with a half smile.

"Right, it's closed, but it's not for any Major League Baseball All-Star Game."

"It's not?" she glanced at him and back to the monitor.

"Okay, let's do this… and here in the distance…" he pointed a decisive index in the air.

"… it's not Carl Beane on the radio."

"No it's not, it's US District Judge Patti Saris. You can hear her right?"

"Okay. So that would be the naturalization ceremony?"

"Right again. September 17, 2008."

"Did you manage to put a time frame on this so far?"

"I'm on it," said agent Farnsworth who sat down on the chair before them.

"Thanks Astrid. Can I ask you to watch Walter while we're gone?"

Doctor Bishop was standing on one leg, arms stretched out and reciting some mathematical sequence in a very loud voice.

"You can. No worries," Astrid said, adjusting her own headset.

"We're gone?" Peter said with childish enthusiasm. "But let me ask you something before we leave the premises, you're not planning to rip my heart out of my chest because I called you sweetheart, are you?"

"Don't push it Peter," she said with a smile, "I heard you the first time. And the fact is… I need you."

"To pass myself off as your brother?"

"I was envisioning something radically different this time."

"Radically different? I'm devastated," he said in her wake.

She stopped and he almost walked her over but managed to stop only five inches away. He immediately locked his eyes on hers when she turned back.

"Whatever you say, boss," he smiled.

"Don't be the smart ass please. And don't you call me boss either, Peter, I'm not in the mood."

"What is it with you people today? Nobody seems to be in the mood for anything."

"Just you wait."

"Sure thing bo… Dunham."

-o-

She started the engine and they left the campus without exchanging another word. She was driving her SUV mechanically and heading south to Allston. After a few minutes, it was obvious that she was not going to say anything and Peter found himself feeling more and more impatient. He finally swooped towards her on his seat.

"Okay, I don't mean to be rude but why did you ask me to follow you? Is it merely a whim? Is there a purpose to this trip? 'Cause you must understand that I just left some very important work back at the lab," he joked, "and the least you can do is to tell me where we're going."

"Sorry, I was…" she shrugged, "I was… I don't know."

"You don't know where we're going?"

"I know where we're going Peter," she gave him a pale smile, "I just meant that I'm not much of a talker."

"Let me think… hence your line of work."

"I guess."

Another long silence ensued.

"Okay. This is getting ridiculous. Let's go back to the basics then. It's been a pleasant fall so far, don't you think?"

She smiled again and left Harvard Avenue to turn on Commonwealth.

"So you're not going to tell me anything? Obviously you've got a lot on your mind. You know you can talk to me right?"

She nodded and seemed even more hesitant.

"I have to take you somewhere. I have been postponing this… moment for a couple of weeks and I shouldn't have. I was being selfish."

"Now you've got me worried. Postpone what? And why?"

"You remember when I told you that I will find you new accommodations? I've been working on that. And Broyles finally understood that you need to get a good night sleep once in a while."

"That is great news!" he said a bit louder than he would have liked.

"You understand that you sound just like your father?"

He tilted his head and stared at her with a smirk. She grinned and when her nose wrinkled, he braced himself against reaching out to her. She turned her attention back to the road.

"So I've got three keys. The first one is to a house in Allston. Not far from the one we visited some time ago. That's where we're heading first. And don't forget that you still have a fourth option."

"To move in with you? Don't you think it's a bit early to consider this option?"

She bit her lip and continued.

"To live in Harvard. I have no doubt that the Dean can arrange that."

"Thank you but no thanks. Allston here we come!"

-o-

He waved at the bartender for another round and checked his phone. He could not believe they had spent three hours visiting only this one house. From his point of view, the house Olivia had picked up was perfect for a young couple with toddlers and a dog, but nothing practical for him and Walter. Not to mention that it was awfully near the place he used to live with his parents before Walter had been institutionalized and that was a bit too close for comfort, --really. That trip down memory lane was the last thing he needed now that he was willing to settle down at least for a while.

Olivia had been the perfect estate agent all along and he had been unable to read her face ever since they had set foot outside the lab. She had placed several phone calls during this visit and he had discovered that Charlie seemingly had an unexpected close relationship with her. He was not very comfortable with that notion. He could not help but being disturbed by the fact that agent Francis was the one she would turn to should she need help. And now she was calling Astrid. Not only agent Olivia Dunham had spent an entire morning in her office at their Harvard lab without exchanging a word with any of us but now that she was supposed to give him her full attention she was bailing out on him. She hung up and smiled in a very professional fashion.

"Astrid has a time frame Peter," she said matter-of-factly. "Thanks for the beer, I really appreciate it."

"Just to clarify. I'm getting paid for doing this… thing, helping you… Am I?"

"Yes of course."

"In this case, no sweat, I guess I can afford to buy you a beer. As long as it doesn't turn into a bad habit," he added with a disarming smile.

"So you sure about the house? No regret?"

"One hundred percent sure. What's next?"

"I need to grab something to eat first. I'm dangerously sugar low. And then we'll go back to Cambridge. There're two flats I want you to see."

"You want to have a sandwich here?"

She gave a look around.

"I think I have a better idea."

-o-

Cooking was not his idea of having a good time with a woman. He did enjoy the fact of preparing something to eat from scratch to impress someone but it was odd to be in Liv's apartment fixing a meal when they were supposed to be visiting flats. She was on the phone again and he would have preferred to have this conversation with her, the one where he told her that he was glad he had stuck around to be part of her team, the one where he would say that he was more than happy to be his friend but in fact having second thought about it since he knew he was falling for her.

"Wow! Peter, I have no idea what it is but it looks fantastic," she said, slouching on the chair facing him. "Sorry for all these phone calls. I'm having trouble coordinating everything with the Bureau."

She ate with relish while he kept poking and nibbling at his food. It was indeed very sexy to see a girl actually eat, he thought. She washed her meal with a glass of Merlot and smiled with satisfaction before turning her attention back to him.

"That was a blast Peter, thank you. So what do you say? You want to go see the flats now or can you spare me some extra time for a cup of coffee?"

She was up and clearing the table already, waiting for his answer.

"Coffee would be great."

"Okay, in this case, can I talk to you?"

"Of course you can. You've been tiptoeing around this all day. Please by all means talk woman!"

He followed her to the kitchen, carrying their glasses and the wine.

"But you have to promise me you won't be mad, okay?" she said.

She put the kettle on and took the coffee and the pot from a top shelf.

"Why would I be?"

"I don't know but I think it's in the realm of possibilities," she shrugged, pouring water. She retrieved two cups and sat them on the kitchen table.

"Don't be so cryptic or I will have to blame it on my cuisine," Peter joked, perching on the kitchen counter.

"I'll go right to the point then. You know that there's nothing that a nudge from Homeland Security wouldn't fix?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"Well, if you're interested, I can arrange for you to go back to the MIT. Your records would be expunged. No question asked. You could start again right from where you stopped. And your flat, the one we're about to visit, is only a block away. What do you say?"

She was literally beaming.

"What do I say? I have no idea. I'm not sure I'm thinking anything," he frowned, his heart racing.

"You understand that if DHS pulls strings, they stay pulled."

He leapt up from his chair and leaned towards her.

"What makes you think I want to go down that path again? Is it your idea of a joke? Or is it Walter's?" he shouted.

She looked taken aback but did not flinch.

"Peter, you're a brilliant man, a real asset to our team. Wouldn't you be willing to have a fresh start, to become the man you should have…"

"What makes you believe that I was not perfectly happy with my life before you chose to barge in and destroy it all? How can you be so sure that I'm not in every way the man I ever wanted to be?"

His face was five inches away from hers and she could feel anger radiating from him. She watched him hesitate, his resolve shifting. His eyelids fluttered and he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, bit his lip, and sighed heavily, his head sinking to his chest.

"Never mind."

All of a sudden he turned his back on her, retrieved his coat from the hanger in the hall and rushed out, slamming the door behind him.

"That went well," she whispered sipping on her coffee.

-o-

"Why didn't you use these chips you put on our carrier pigeons? A GPS, it is what it is called… I think. That went well with the birds!" Walter said with a note of rebuke in his hoarse voice. Tears were pouring on his cheeks and he seemed at a loss.

Olivia Dunham did not move. She felt guilty enough without Walter accusing her of losing his son and jeopardizing their mission in the process.

"Walter, Peter is not a pigeon!" Astrid said, patting him on the shoulder.

She guided him to his work bench, made him sit and placed a cup of hot cocoa in his left hand.

"I know that, Astragal. Is it Gene's?" he sniffed inside the hot cup and smiled, his attention immediately distracted.

Astrid nodded.

"Did you have any difficulty milking her?"

"Nope. Just did as you taught me."

"Excellent." He took a sip and rolled his eyes with glee. "Sugar?"

"Yes, five and a half. Your usual."

"Perfect. Olivia, are you in the lab?"

"I'm right here Walter."

"Oh yes, yes you are. I'm thinking that you would have outwitted Peter should you have indeed chosen to place a GPS inside him."

"Walter, let's pretend we're not having this conversation," Olivia interrupted. "You're positive that your son did not go back to your hotel last night?"

"Of course I am! Do you think I'm crazy? I know I was alone. I starved till morning. Only then I called Asteria. But only for breakfast. She would not…"

"Walter, thank you. That would be enough. Astrid, could you please check every station, airport, etc. and see what you can find? Peter left my place around eighteen hundred yesterday. Check CCTV footage in the area and get back to me as soon as you have anything."

"Peter was at your place yesterday?" asked Walter.

Olivia stared at him and waited for her personal hell to break loose.

"Were you safe? You know it is paramount to the success of a relationship. And trust. Trust is everything."

"Thanks Walter, I'll try to remember that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make some phone calls."

"But you're going to find Peter, right?"

"Absolutely." _Even if I have to go to the North Pole this time._

-o-

But it turned out she would not have to. Her cell phone rang; she checked her screen but the caller ID was disabled.

"Dunham."

"It's me, Peter. Don't say anything."

"Okay," she checked around, but she was alone. Nevertheless she closed the door to her office behind her. "I'm listening."

She pressed her cell phone to her ear and rapidly wrote a note to Astrid. She had to tell her that Peter was still around and apparently kicking.

"I want you to meet me at the _Z Center_ in twenty minutes. I made a reservation for a squash court. Don't be late," he said before hanging up.

She checked her watch, dived under her desk to retrieve her gym bag, dropped the post-it on Astrid desk and ran out of the lab. It took her less than seven minutes to get to the MIT and park. She was still running when she spotted him pacing in front of the _Zesiger Sports and Fitness Center_. He was wearing a white fitness outfit with black stripes on the legs and arms, a band on his head and his left arm and he was grinning.

"Right on time. Broyles taught you well."

She stopped two feet away from him resisting the urge to yell at him.

"I see that you are enjoying yourself. It's good to know. How did you pull this off?" she whispered instead in a toneless voice.

"I'm a member, actually," he responded playfully with a little bow in her direction.

"You know perfectly well that's not what I'm talking about."

"Really, I do? To set the record straight, I'm even a patron."

"Where were you?" she asked before what he just said sank in. "A MIT patron? Forged identity?"

She went past him and entered the building.

"Would you like to know… but not in this lifetime, baby. Of course you understand that everybody can use these facilities, don't you?" he added, gloating at her trouble. "Shall we?"

He extended his arm to show her the way to the elevators.

"Where have you been?" she finally asked in the privacy of the elevator car.

"Good morning to you too. I actually slept like a baby. Missed me?"

"Peter I'm serious. I had to lie to half the Bureau not to mention Broyles to cover for you."

"You don't have to cover for me; I'm just a civilian consultant."

She sighed heavily.

"You don't understand; you're part of my team. You cannot do this Peter, disappear and come back whenever you want to. To be honest, I never expected that you would… --come back, I mean."

"Liv, it's only eight thirty, which means that theoretically I was never missing, I merely didn't spend the night with my father. And that is quite normal if you think of it for an average American male in his late twenties or early thirties, your choice. That's about it, there's not much to discuss actually. Now, please, let's focus on fitness, squash strategies, game condition, drill and whatnot. You're right handed, aren't you? And you think you can beat me?" he added with an enticing smile.

-o-

Peter was standing in front of the fridge in Olivia's kitchen, his left hand keeping the door open, and looking puzzled. A deep crease in the middle of his forehead was sending a message she was not ready to read just yet.

"You're joking right? You drag me to your place to have a late breakfast…"

"I know, I'm sorry, I forgot."

"You forgot that your kitchen looks like a make-believe kitchen in a test house? You're just being sloppy here. Every single time I was here, we brought everything from your local store with us as per my instructions."

"There are cereals, and crackers."

"You mean the things that you should have thrown away sometime during the last century? I don't think so. I'm surprised they don't have a life of their own already. If they meet with your spoilt takeaway leftovers, they are likely to start a family if you ask me. I cannot believe you don't even have a ball of fresh fruits or some orange juice or think of it… --milk. Do you ever eat properly Dunham?"

"I'm pretty sure that I have some tomato juice, --somewhere."

"And probably a bottle of vodka in the freezer? Seriously, Olivia, you must know that celery salt and Tabasco don't qualify for fresh vegetables."

"We have to talk."

"I can't talk on an empty stomach Dunham."

"Okay. You win. I'm a joke when it comes to having a healthy diet and keeping my house in order. Are you happy? You'll find the keys to the house in my coat. And there's some change on the console in the ashtray. And now I'll take a shower and if you want to run errands, just don't disappear again. I'll be right back."

She pushed the bedroom door behind her and undressed. Having a shower at her place was a bad idea. She could not even begin to comprehend her motives when she urged Peter to leave right after he managed to beat her twice with such ease and grace. Probably because she didn't want to meet anyone she knew. She used to exercise a lot at the MIT when she relocated to Boston after the Lucas debacle and she could remember a time that had not been her finest hour. Licking her wounds took her the best part of three years, and then she met John.

That was probably why she was trying something entirely different with Peter, the colleague approach, which implied throwing in the mix something between motherly interest and buddy connection. She could not get her head round the idea that Peter was actually right about Walter and that she had been wrong all along. He was only his father's guardian, and they had needed him to get to Walter. With Bishop menacing to go back to Sainte Claire if he left, he was trapped in Boston. Of course, it was convenient that he was willing to be this multitasking handy man who had to put up with Walter's foibles and idiosyncrasies on a daily basis. She still couldn't believe that he had decided to eventually stay; at the end of the day, as far as the Bureau was concerned, it meant a 24/7 trustful keeper and no worries whatsoever. That was so unfair.

Peter needed to have his life back, whatever life that was. Who was she to interfere with it in the first place? She had absolutely no idea what she was doing at the time. She could not lose John, that's exactly what she was doing, she thought. The cost notwithstanding, she succeeded. She would understand that Peter did not want to pay the price. Not to mention the fact that everything evolving in the Bishop's vicinity was tainted with the promises of endless pitfalls and difficulties.

She stayed under the hot spring in the shower and mused about Peter and the way they had met in Iraq. A perfect tale for her grand children. In an ideal world, she could have fallen for him, the perfect tongue-in-cheek good looking witty alpha male. She played the same scene in that fancy hotel lobby with a different music. She was Julia Roberts and he was Clive Owen. She could almost hear the music. His look of appreciation when he saw her, the little twitch of his mouth, the smile in his eyes. Who was she kidding? Even with this ghastly John stunt, she had fallen for him. There was this boyish innocence to him that was so endearing and so alien to what she was actually used to. And she needed someone to rebound to, to get over John's betrayal and he was here and the perfect candidate. His father had been sold to the idea from day one anyway.

Was he a colleague, a friend? She had no idea. Their easy banter was something she was looking forward to every day and the fact that he had disappeared if only for a few hours and that she had panicked over it terrified her. She stepped out of the booth and quickly dried before going back to her bedroom wrapped in her bath towel.

"So that's the secret of your success? You can't sing?" asked Peter who was seated on an armchair next to her chest of drawers.

She jumped in surprise and felt her heart exploding in her chest.

"Of course I can!" she protested, under the impression that her whole body was flushed.

"Olivia, I may be dumb but I'm not deaf. You were humming this song, and you were totally out of key."

"What are you doing in my room anyway? I thought you were hungry?"

As soon as she saw the grin on his face, she realized her choice of words was far from perfect and wished she had never left the safety of her bathroom.

"Olivia, I'll be leaving now."

"Oh…" she said failing at concealing her disappointment.

He could not leave now that she had found him, even if technically, she had not.

"I have to go back to the hotel and get my things."

So it was over. Over before she had the chance to have her say at anything.

"Really? But why now?"

"You don't expect me to go back to the lab in a training suit and running shoes don't you?" he joked.

She went beet red and tried helplessly to avoid his scrutiny.

"Oh, I thought…"

"Here is the deal. Liv, just pick the flat you like best for me and Walter, will you. I trust you on that. And please could you arrange to have our things transferred over there? I don't want to see this hotel suite ever again if I may."

"Okay. Can do."

"We'll meet at the lab then. Don't take forever to get ready. I saw you half naked already you don't have to get all girlie for me."

"Why would I do that?" she smiled weakly, regained her composure.

He got up and walked up to her.

"Thanks for your MIT proposition. I have to think it over but I must ask you not to tell Walter... well… --yet. Please?"

"Peter I'm sorry, I didn't want to be rude or anything, I just wanted to make it up to you."

"I knew it. Deep down, you're just trying to make me like you," he said in a soft voice leaning down to her ear. "Later, then."

He turned his back to her but changed his mind and faced her again.

"Thank you."

He grabbed her gently by the shoulders, locked his eyes on hers and smiled, and hugged her swiftly. And with that, he was gone. She slumped down on her bed and heard her front door slam shut.

She shivered and realized that she had lost track of time and that she really had to get going as well. Then she smelled coffee. She put on a sweater and a pair of jeans and headed back to her kitchen. A pot of steaming coffee was sat on the table with a selection of buns and donuts. The Boston Globe and the Boston Herald were spread out on the table. He had bought fruits and flowers, and when she checked the fridge, she found out it was full.

Maybe he was trying to make her like him too.

-o-

_any thoughts? did you like it?_


End file.
